A Blue Police Box
by allonsyalways
Summary: The life of a girl in Arkansas can get boring. Wendy is a teenager, 16, and tries to live a normal life after her mother died. After she came home from school one day, she gets a surprise visit from an unbelievable guest with a blue box. This fic is what would happen if the Doctor met me.
1. Chapter 1

This is a short prologue to the story. I promise the chapters will be much, **MUCH **longer. And the rating may change later, depending on how the story goes. I hope you guys enjoy it! Reviews are to _DIE_ for.

**Disclaimer: **Again, I don't own Doctor Who or any of the characters in it. Of course, I do own myself... I hope.

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Blue is a nice color, I suppose. I mean, for people who enjoy the color, whether it's a dark or lighter shade, it must be a lovely hue that appeals to them. I can see where they're coming from; blue is the color of all sorts of things: water, the sky, and some people's eyes. It can stand for emotions, as well. Usually, it is associated with sadness or gloom because of its deep intensity and lack of light, assuming the shade is a navy or royal blue. Some think of a more airy, cotton-candy hue, or "baby blue." They imagine it as a source of bright, cheerful playfulness and joy. Of course, there is also the dull shade of blue, seen in metals or metallic objects, which is often quite painful to look at because of the lifeless emotion that it gives off. People don't want to feel empty; they want to feel that their life is worth something and that they're having fun doing it. Colors really bring out the passion in people and help define who they are. Certain people prefer certain dyes, and I am one of those people.

Blue really gets people thinking deeply, and they seem to really enjoy the color. Me? I've never really felt anything towards it. My mother had a car with a royal blue paint job, and she used to take me to and from school in it. My father worked all day and all night, trying to support the family, so he couldn't do it. After school, every day, I would look for that blue to come around the corner to pick me up. When my mother died, I had to walk to school. I missed that blue. Actually, no; I _still_ miss that blue. Ever since then, I've blocked the emotions that come when I see the color blue. I refuse to think of what happened that day or why or how I felt when I found out she'd died. That blue has haunted me ever since her death and I never wanted to see it again… that is, until I saw a royal blue police box in my backyard one evening.

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**Review! Tell me if you think the story should continue.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** For the millionth time, no. I do not own Doctor Who or the characters in it. It would change a lot if I did.

I hate Arkansas. Every last bit of it makes me want to scream and set the place on fire. From the hot, unbearably dry summers to the cold, bitterly icy winters that are, somehow, devoid of snow, it's not a place you'd want to visit on summer break. Nothing even goes on here other than the state fair, which still isn't even enjoyable. Who wants to go to a dirty, broken fair with obese children eating themselves sick and then go on rollercoasters? Most of the time, those kids' vomit lands on you, and trust me, that's _not _easy to get out of clothes. Nothing is ever easy in this hellhole of a state. And somehow, I manage to live here.

It sounds like I don't enjoy my life, doesn't it? Well, mostly, that's true. I go to a high school that is ridiculously expensive and has barely enough students to even _count _as a school, and my family isn't exactly the wealthiest. I mean, we're not poor to the extent of having to beg for food like the homeless man that likes to wander around our street (no matter how many times I scare him off), but we can't go buying everything in sight, like many of the other teenagers in this state, either. My dad has to support my family because my mom passed away, and I have no older siblings to help us pay our debts. I have no friends at my school because I actually have a brain and think for myself, which, of course, makes me an outcast and a freak. My dad is allergic to almost every animal, so we don't have any pets. I have a TV that only sometimes decides to work, and my computer is agonizingly slow, so I don't really use it much. Our neighbors think it's a good idea to have parties every night at 3:00 A.M., which makes me get absolutely no sleep. When I get no sleep, I get angry and frustrated, which makes me lash out when annoying people at school bother me, so I'm pretty much universally hated by everyone. So, yeah, my life sucks.

There are a few positive things in my life, however. I'm actually quite smart, so schoolwork is pretty stress-free and swift. I have few health problems, unlike many people in my family who get every single allergy known to man. I'm not that bad-looking, either. I'm not saying that I'm gorgeous, but your brain doesn't melt or fry when you look at me. I have a few talents, as well. I can sing relatively well, and by that I mean keep on pitch and stretch my range pretty far. Drawing is something I tend to do often, and I've become better and better with each doodle or scrawl across my notes, so I guess that counts as being fairly okay in the arts category. Other than those good traits, though, life has been particularly cruel to me, and I don't blame it.

I have been having nightmares recently, and it's always the same one. Sometimes there's a few varying factors, but overall it's the same, terrible dream. I'm in some strange place. It's as if it's a dome of some sort, with lights all around it and a power system in the middle that glows. There's a gentleman there, but I can never tell who it is. All I can ever recall is that he wears a lengthy, flowing trench coat. He leads me to the exit, and when the doors open it seems as if we were in my neighbourhood. As soon as I take my first step out of the mysterious room, everything turns to chaos. Buildings crumble; the air turns thick, and the sky changes to a dark crimson color. All I can hear is a faint, metal clinging and some robotic noises in the distance that are slowly getting louder and louder as they approach. I can see what's making the noise after a second, and it looks as though masses of robots are extinguishing everything and everyone in their path. I see people being electrocuted and tumbling, and I hear their cries of pain and anguish over lost ones. The man that's with me dashes to them and holds out an object, something that I can't see. The machines make a noise after he speaks a long while, and I see a flash of light. The last thing that I can remember is him, crumpling, dead before he hits the ground. I always wake up right then, always, for some reason, feeling a wave of depression and loss. I don't know why, but I always cry when I wake up, for I miss that man. I don't even know who he is, or what he looks like, but I long to see him again. Luckily, I do get the chance to meet him again, every night. One special day, though, I saw him. And I wasn't dreaming.


	3. Chapter 3

I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON. I am so sorry that I haven't posted in... what... months? All I know is that it's 2013 and I haven't published a chapter technically since last year. Send the Daleks to destroy me; I deserve it.

Please forgive me. Life happened, and I had no time. Seriously. NO time. So please enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to **R&R! (**_I won't blame you for hate mail.)_

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"Dad? I'm leaving for school!" I shouted in the early hours of the morning, somehow already late. There was a thunderstorm the previous night, which knocked about some things in the house and shut the electricity off, so my alarm didn't wake me up, which, of course, is the cause of me being tardy _again._

I heard a thud from upstairs that usually means he heard me, so I basically sprinted out of the door with a half-eaten Jammie Dodger in my mouth in a hurried attempt to get to school. Unfortunately, that's how most of my mornings go; I'm always late for some purpose, whether it's my fault or not, and if not for my decent grades I would seriously be getting detentions on a daily basis. I'm amazed I haven't developed any yet.

"Come _on,_ car, work!" I screamed at the blasted machine for the umpteenth time this year. What happens inside a car is beyond me, but I am positive that something is legitimately the matter with mine. Considering that it's probably thirty years old, it would have difficulties, wouldn't it? I just expected them to be the kind of glitches that could actually get fixed properly. "I'm already late! You got your wish. Just GO!"

And with a strange clicking clatter that I haven't heard it create before, the demon turned on. I grinned in satisfaction, but as the clock illuminated, the grin vanished instantly and turned into a grimace. _You're going to be late again. Why are you always late to school? What's wrong with you? _I tried to shake away my thoughts as I approached a stoplight. _This light is going to be red forever. You might as well just go back home; you're never going to get there in time_. "Shut up," I hissed at my mind, the light finally switching to the luminous green color I desire.

When I arrived, the parking lot was motionless. Well, of course it was; all the students were already in class, but it felt oddly calmer than it usually was this time of year. But honestly, I didn't care about anything right then other than getting to class. And when I did, it wasn't pretty.

"Miss Johnson, I see you have decided to join the class," my teacher said, writing from her whiteboard as I slowly opened the door, trying not to be noticed. But, of course, I failed at that task. Sometimes, it feels as if she has eyeballs under that stringy black hair; I wouldn't doubt it. She keeps millions of frog statues in her room and basically worships rain, so why not be an alien? It makes sense to me.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hayes," I mumbled under my breath. I found the nearest seat available and plopped down with an audible thud, mentally sighing from the holes burning in the back of my head. Yeah, people like to stare at me. I just learn to get over it most of the time; I have to, or else everyday would be hell. Well, it already is, but I can't even imagine actually having to worry about what people think of me.

I blankly stared at what she was scrawling on the board, not taking in any information. It's not like I even needed to pay attention anyway. This class was too easy, even without studying. All I can ever focus on are her awfully painted nails every day. It's always the same four colors: burnt mustard yellow, a sickly green-ish lime, chalky light blue, or bubblegum pink. Don't get me wrong, they're manicured beautifully and are, without a doubt, the most well-done nails I've seen, but the colors are so atrocious that it defeats the whole look. It's as if she lets a child in the salon pick hues for her. It would have to be some other person's children, though, because I seriously doubt she has any. I mean, who could marry her? She's got a million problems, she's scrawny and her hair looks like a bird's nest recovering from a hurricane, and she talks with this annoying-

"Earth to Wendy? Hello?" I was interrupted by a shrill noise that I recognized as her voice. Apparently, I was asked a question and didn't answer.

"Uh, the central nervous system?" I randomly guessed, knowing that I was setting myself up for a verbal lashing.

There was a split second of confusion twisted on her face that changed to the expected look of hate. "Yes. Well done," she spat, eyeing the room for whom she thought had given me the answer.

"That was… lucky," I muttered, continuing to be blissfully unaware of everything else except for my imagination. That idea was cut short when the bell rang deafeningly, making me jump a foot in the air. "Thank God," I said under my breath, collecting my books.

Later on:

I decided to head straight home instead of going to the library, my original plan. I intended to actually accomplish the perpetual task of completing my homework, but of course that didn't happen. Even when I got home, I couldn't do it. Something was kind of…. Distracting me. Hey, you would get distracted too if there were a 1960's police box in your backyard.


End file.
